328 Her features all as fresh above, As is the grasse that growes by Dove; Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll, Or swanne that swims in Trent. This mayden in a morne betime Went forth, when May was in her prime, To get sweete cetywall, The honey-suckle, the harlocke, The lilly and the lady-smocke, To deck her summer hall. Thus, as she wandred here and there, Y-picking of the bloomed breere, 30 35 She chanced to espie A shepheard sitting on a bancke, 40 Like chanteclere he crowed crancke, And pip'd full merrilie. He lear'd his sheepe as he him list, When he would whistle in his fist, To feede about him round; Whilst he full many a carroll sung, Untill the fields and medowes rung, And all the woods did sound. 45 In favour this same shepheards swayne Which helde prowd kings in awe: Whom his lewd brother slaw. The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke, That could be cut with sheere: His mittens were of bauzens skinne, His cockers were of cordiwin, His hood of meniveere. · 50 55 60 His aule and lingell in a thong, His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong, His breech of coyntrie blewe: Full crispe and curled were his lockes, And pyping still he spent the day, So merry as the popingay; Which liked Dowsabel : That would she ought, or would she nought, 70 She in love-longing fell. Alluding to "Tamburlaine the great, or the Scythian Shepheard," 1590, 8vo. an old ranting play ascribed to Marlowe. † Sc. Abel, At length she tucked up her frocke, Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane, In Love of Dowsabel. Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe, Lest they should hap to stray. Come forth to gather maye. With that she gan to vaile her head, But not a word she sayd: With that the shepheard gan to frowne, He threw his pretie pypes adowne, And on the ground him layd. 75 80 85 90 95 Sayth she, I may not stay till night, And leave my summer-hall undight, And all for long of thee. My coate, sayth he, nor yet my foulde Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould, 100 With that she bent her snow-white knee, 115 And him she sweetely kist: With that the shepheard whoop'd for joy, That ever was so blist. 120 VIII. THE FAREWELL TO LOVE. From Beaumont and Fletcher's play, entitled The Lover's Progress, act iii. sc. 1. ADIEU, fond love, farewell you wanton I am free again. powers; Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours, Fly to fools, that sigh away their time: And there behold beauty still young, That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy, Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung, And honoured by eternity and joy : There lies my love, thither my hopes aspire, 5 10 Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows higher. |